Expendable Saints
by clay12345
Summary: "Confession is always weakness. The grave soul keeps its own secrets and takes its own punishment in silence." - Dorothea Dix/ Emily makes a decision, and from then on, hers and JJ's worlds never cease to revolve around a single moment in time.
1. The World Is Not Enough

****_quick notes from the author:_

_I've made a few changes to the story here and there. None too significant. Emily/JJ pairing. Season 6 spoilers. Maybe season 7 later._

**The World is Not Enough****  
**

Garbage ( watch?v=lNcZrn5dqZw)

* * *

"Let man fear woman when she loves: then she makes any sacrifice, and everything else seems without value to her" - Friedrich Nietzsche

* * *

"And why not?"

"Please. Just don't ask."

"I want to know the answer."

"No."

"You can tell me. It's okay."

"You need to stay away."

The truth was, Emily didn't know what it was she was feeling. She couldn't tell. It eluded her, the same way the little scraps of plastic caught in the tide would if you chased them, gently pushed away by waves of ripples. The truth was, Emily could assign any semblance of logic to one belief, one nagging belief, that wouldn't leave her head. The truth was, JJ had to – no, needed to – stay away.

"Emily, I don't want to."

"Go."

"You can't make me go. I don't care about what it is you're hiding. I don't. I want to stay here with you."

"You don't know what you're saying."

"Yes, I do."

"JJ. Leave. Now."

She could see the woman in front of her begin to falter, and it was as though the entire ordeal was only another of Emily's dreams. The words left her mouth but she could hardly hear them. It had to be methodological . Surgical. The selfish part of her brain didn't want this to happen. The selfish part of her brain wanted all of this to stop. She wanted to take JJ into her arms and forget every word. But then she remembered what she was. A tumor in JJ's life. She needed to be removed.

"None of it meant anything to me."

"Stop it, Emily."

JJ's eyes began to water. Emily could see the tears filling the lower lip of her eyelid. She almost stopped. She almost called the surgery off. But then she remembered him. She remembered the kind of things he would do. She remembered how angry he could get. How angry he would be.

So she reached deep into her mind. She found the wall that kept all the emotions and the memories and the pain from her days from Interpol blocked out. She unlocked it and entered. In that moment, as she always was when breaching that wall, she found herself overwhelmed. Consumed by all the identities she had undertaken, all the lives she had lived.

There was one. Her team had been called in to profile a Japanese terrorist.

She had taken on the identity of an independent contractor. Modern day mercenary. Modern day gun. Lisa Royce was heartless. Cold. Brutal. She was the kind of woman was the kind of woman who wouldn't think twice about killing you in your sleep. A veritable psychopath. Born 17 October 1982. Lived in Los Angeles, California until age six. Was tossed around in the foster care system for twelve more years. Took her first kill when on her twentieth birthday. And if anyone asked, Lisa Royce hadn't felt the slightest shred of remorse. A veritable psychopath. Perfect for this occasion.

She had worn her skin once. She could do it again.

* * *

**2 weeks before she left**

The light flashed green when she swiped the card through the slot in the door. The handle turned easily and the door swung open. The two women walked in. JJ collapsed on the bed, Emily on the couch. Silence settled down throughout the unlit room. From the bed, JJ sent over a pointed look, eliciting a groan from the other woman. Emily rose to flick on the lights before falling back onto the couch.

"Sometimes I just don't understand," started Emily.

"I know what you mean."

"I always think that I've seen it all. And then we get another case passed across our desks. It's always something new, isn't it?"

"Let's talk about something other than the case."

"Okay," said Emily, drawing out the word. "What should we talk about then?"

Emily looked over at JJ and felt something warm spread through her chest. JJ looked up at the ceiling, smiling as she thought. Emily would have been content to just watch. She could have lain there all night and have been absolutely content. Absolutely.

"Oh, I know," JJ said. A glint flashed in her eyes. "You never told me what you did before the BAU."

She smiled; "Nothing special."

"Well that explains a lot."

Emily sat up to turn towards JJ; "It's all in my file. Interpol. Boring desk work. Nothing worth talking about."

"That can't be true."

"Why not?"

"It isn't interesting. Ask me something else. Anything else."

"Fine," pouted JJ, knowing the limits. She didn't stop staring up at the ceiling. Emily sighed anticipating the next words. "Before the Interpol, then? Can I know about that?"

With a sigh, Emily lifted herself from the couch. JJ felt the mattress dip beside her. JJ's eyes remained trained up at the patterned off-white and cream paint. She traced the strokes of paints with her eyes. Emily could almost see the traces of a smile beginning to break through across the media liaison's face. She almost couldn't stop the smile threatening to touch her own face as well.

"After college, I went to OCC," began Emily. JJ lifted an eyebrow. "Officer Candidate Course. I didn't tell my mother, you know. She was far from happy with me. She thought I was going to use my International Politics degree to become sort of politician. Like her. But I passed the course, so they shipped me back to Quantico for basic." Emily's voice settled, becoming trancelike as the story went on. "0204. Human intelligence. Fun stuff. And then I deployed."

"Emily. You don't have to."

"No, it's okay. Once to Kuwait. Once to Iraq, after 9/11."

"How many people know?"

"Hotch. Rossi. It's in my file. That, and the Corps isn't a large world."

"Is that why you and Rossi get along so well?"

"I guess so." Emily looked over at JJ. "You're the first one I've told though."

For the first time, JJ matched Emily's eyes; "Thank you."

"No, thank _you_. It's nice being able to tell someone something for a change."

They went to bed that night. The next morning, they would work the case again, just as they had the previous day. They would examine the mind of a killer. They would hunt the man down, just as they had with countless other unsubs. Only this time was different, and they knew it.

* * *

"That job at the Pentagon."

"What about it?"

"Take it. I want you out of my life."

"What do you mean?"

"I thought it was pretty clear."

There was another part of Emily that was almost proud of herself, to actually be pulling this off. To keep her voice even when it wanted to break into a thousand different pieces. To keep her face still when it wanted to twist into an expression of anguish. To keep the tears at bay when all they wanted to do was fall.

JJ kissed her again, and it was all she could do to not fall apart.

_Lisa Royce. Lisa Royce. Lisa Royce._

She felt JJ's hands grasping at her skin, as though she could prevent separation by nothing more than the simple act of holding on. She stepped back, her hand resting on JJ's chest keeping her at arm's length.

"Take that Pentagon job and leave me alone, JJ. I don't want to see you again."

"You don't mean that."

Emily could see the way the pain was tearing JJ into two. She restarted the mantra in her head. _Lisa Royce. Lisa Royce. Lisa Royce._ She tried to make herself belief, for a moment, that JJ was some sort of accomplice to that Japanese terrorist they had put away a long time ago. But she couldn't. And Lisa Royce crumbled away, receding back into the walls.

And the only thing spurring her on became the thought of _him_ hurting _her_.

"Please don't make me keep saying these things."

"Why are you saying them?" JJ asked, and the vulnerability in her voice sent a wave of nausea over Emily.

"Because I have to. Because you need to leave."

"What aren't you telling me?"

* * *

**4 years before she left**

She had convinced herself not to go. That it was indelibly the wrong decision to make. And so, she was, quite frankly, going to turn Garcia down, just as she had every other time she had been asked. Only this time, Garcia didn't ask. JJ asked. And before she could stop herself, she had said yes.

Instead, she promised herself that this would be the only time, that she wouldn't agree to it again. She rationalized it. Put logic to her behavior. She needed to this just this once, to keep them off her back, so as not to draw too much attention. It was to mean nothing. Nothing at all.

No, Emily Prentiss was not here to make friends.

Quite the opposite, really. Quite the opposite.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Huh?"

"I said, what are you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking I could use a drink right about now."

"Oh, yeah."

Emily thought back to the first time she had met JJ. She had almost cursed her old teammate for sending her there, as though he knew exactly what would be waiting for the incoming agent. JJ tucked away a strand of hair behind her ear, looking away, presumably for Garcia. Emily felt a sudden need to fill the silence.

"Ask me a question."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Why not. Go ahead."

"If you could go anywhere in the world right now, where would you go?"

"I'd go back to Paris."

"You've been to Paris?"

"I used to live there. There was this little shop about a block away from where we lived that sold bread. Actually it was the only shop within a block. But that meant that it was the only shop I could go without an escort." Emily didn't know why she was talking, but the words wouldn't stop flowing from her mouth towards JJ; they followed the blond, pulled in like stray magnets. "I would go in the mornings, just as they were pulling the bread out of the ovens. It was the only place I could be alone. I'd like to go there again."

"It sounds wonderful."

"It was."

"Now ask me a question."

"Huh?" said Emily, for the second time.

"I got to hear something from you so now it's your turn. Come on. Ask me anything."

"Alright… What is… your favorite food?"

"That's your question?"

Emily shrugged; "Food is important."

"Cheetos."

"That's not a food."

"Of course it is."

"Is it now?" smiled Emily, arching an eyebrow.

JJ blushed before looking away.

Emily no longer felt a need to fill the silence. The discomfort always left when she had something to do, some task to fulfill. Before she had nothing. Now, she could wonder at the women sitting across from her, and all she could think about was where to buy a bag of those Cheetos.

Garcia soon walked back to their table, three beers in her hand.

* * *

"You don't really know me, JJ. You don't really know the kind of person I am."

"Of course, I do. We've worked together for years."

Emily laughed, and she could almost taste the bitterness on the sides of her tongue. Because, at the end of the day, JJ knew nothing. Right? Nothing. She didn't know about the safe in the bedroom. She didn't know about the fake passports and the different identities. She didn't know about the floorboards hiding away her stash of foreign currency. She didn't know about the go bag she kept in the wall, or that she had constructed and bred an entire identity for the sole purpose of allowing to disappear in a moment's notice if need be.

"That's not true. And maybe one day you'll find out. And then maybe you'll hate me. Maybe you'll hate me today. Either way, it's better for you if you hate me."

"Emily…"

"Don't. If you don't leave, I'll call the police. I'll file a restraining order. Believe me, I will."

JJ began to tremble. She wanted to hold her, to make the trembling stop. But she knew she had lost that right. No, she never had that right. So Emily kept her arms firmly pressed by her sides as she watched JJ continue to tremble and back away towards the door. She watched as JJ turned the door knob and left without a word.

And though she was gone, she could still feel her trembling.

The room trembled around her, and she slid to the floor as she felt her world crumble around her.

The words left her before she could stop them. She imagined JJ there, standing before her. She imagined that she hadn't left the apartment, that she had never made her leave.

"I can take it," she said. "I can take it."

* * *

**more to come.**


	2. If You Could Read My Mind

**If You Could Read My Mind**

by Johnny Cash, original by Gordon Lightfoot (youtube... /watch?v=lukJAutj4jo)

* * *

The years like great black oxen tread the world, and God, ther herdsman goads them on behind, and I am broken by their passing feet." - William Baker Yeats

* * *

The monuments are different at night. Quieter. Emptier. The tourists have gone to their hotels to sleep. The young men and women have walked away, satisfied at a date gone well. The part-time joggers and one-time fitness enthusiasts have left, absent until they again become infatuated with the idea of running between the trees and before the unblinking eyes of Lincoln. At night, there is only the blue collar man, saddled on an ugly red and yellow bikeshare that will never be his own. At night, there is only the old soldier, clinging to nostalgia, his gray hair still cropped short, the ever-hated glo belt slung over his shoulder - old habits are hard to break. No one takes pictures at night. No one speaks. Everyone is alone together, surrounded only by the men and women who have been lost in places few civilians can even pinpoint on a map.

The monuments are different at night. There aren't as many people. But, it's suffocating.

The aloneness makes it hard to breathe, and it's almost as though the stone faces of the soldiers will break from the molds in order to continue their march forward. It's almost as though they'll come alive to fill the space. Of course, they don't. They stand still and don't even tremble, poised at the precipice of movement, as though all it would take is a single nudge. It's this overwhelming potential that fills the air and makes it hard to breathe. The list of names grows longer, and in the end, it's the potential that haunts the place. In the end, it makes the aloneness feel so much more alone.

But it's okay.

That's why she comes here.

Not because she rarely has time during the day. Not because it's too hot when the sun is out. Not because, sometimes, the presidential convoy stops traffic in the area.

She comes to feel the aloneness on her skin pronounced.

And she needs it today. She needs it on days she feels the most alone.

The truth is, she knows the place better than she understands herself. She used to come, when the ambassador had work to do in the capitol. She had always remembered to devote time to the names on the black mirrored walls and to the faces on the walls just across the pool. She had made up names for every one of the stars enclosed between gates commemorating the battles in the Pacific and Atlantic. And then she'd climb the stairs, feeling safe under Lincoln's steady gaze.

Even as a little girl, she had taken care to ensure that no one could see her. Even when she hadn't needed to, she had guaranteed that she could slip away like a ghost.

She thought of the house around Lincoln as nothing more than a giant wall, as a barrier behind which she could hide. Few others went behind there other than her. She liked to think that she was the only one who could see the view behind the Lincoln Memorial. She liked to think that no one else could see the way the Potomac glistened, or the way those massive, grand statues guarded the path to Arlington, to hallowed grounds. She liked to think that she was the only one.

Years later, every night she spent at the monuments, she liked to pretend. She liked to pretend that she still believed.

Reid asked her if everything was okay. He often did. Ever since the incident at that lunatic's cult commune, he had doted on her as would a younger brother to his older counterpart and hero. She had noticed.

So, when she answered him, assuring him that she was, indeed, as fine as she could be, she had not one doubt in her mind that he, too, could notice her behavior. She had no illusions. But when he decided not to push the issue any further, she played make believe that hd had noticed nothing at all, and that she was, indeed alright.

The truth was, the only one who mattered was gone, by her very hand.

The hardest part was knowing that, for the first time in her life, she had made the right call.

* * *

**Five years before she left**

People pushed by Emily, lightly brushing against her shoulders. The board hanging above their heads flashed with departure times, and no one wanted to be the one caught at the end of the line. Emily settled down in the center row of plastic chairs, watching as everyone passed her by. Most were probably headed up north, to Pennsylvania or New York. She assigned them all identities. Lives. Personalities. Idiosyncrasies. An exercise she had so often played with herself. She picked at the skin beneath her fingernails as she waited.

"All aboard!"

The line grew shorter and shorter. Emily found herself chuckling at the man on the PA system, torn out from inside her head by the charming little phrase that seemed to come from an entirely different era. It grounded her, maybe. It reminded her that now things were different. It told her that things had changed, and now she could breathe. The thoughts in her head started up again, simmering behind her eyes. Don't believe that. Things don't change. They never change. They only put on a mask and pretend like they have. And eventually, when it counts, the masks will come off, and nothing will have changed.

"Emily?"

"Tom. It's been too long."

They shared a quick embrace before seating back down. Others had begun to also file into to the waiting area, filling the empty space until a new train stopped at the platform.

"Thank you for doing this for me. I know it's a lot to ask."

"Nonsense. You know I'm more than happy to do something like this. I mean, especially since Amber, well, I mean, since she, uh..."

"Hey, look at me. We don't need to get into that right now."

"Oh. Right. Of course not. How have you been?"

"As good as I can be, considering."

Her thumb found a notch in the edge of her nail. She began to deepen the notch, until the whites at the end began to peel away leaving behind angry pink skin. Sometimes it would hurt, the way the nail ripped. But now, the skin at her fingertips felt claustrophobic, and it was only when the nail was separated, could the skin finally breathe.

"That's good," said Tom. "Uh, Emily?"

"Yes?"

"I know you said we didn't need to get into it right now but... Amber would've wanted me to do the thanking. It's been hard, and it's not like there are other men who knows what all of this is like. It's been hard going it alone, but I think... I think all of this would've made her happy."

"She's family, Tom. It's as simple as that. She has always been like a sister to me. Ever since we were candidates together at Quantico. Of course, I could hardly believe it when I heard she was marrying some NSA stiff. You turned out to be alright." The lightness in Emily's voice faded out. "I'm sorry I couldn't bring her back."

"You did everything you could," he said. "I'll take care of him, you know. I'll raise him like he's my own. Like he was Amber's."

"Thank you."

"Take care of yourself, Emily. Maybe now that all of this is over... You can't keep going on like this. Closing yourself off. Not everything is your fault, you know. You can be Emily Prentiss now."

"I'll see you later, Tom. You take care of yourself too."

* * *

Benches line the paths between the WWII memorial and Lincoln. She always preferred the side closest to the Korean War, and she always preferred the third bench over. She couldn't pinpoint a reason, but she liked the idea of picking a favorite bench and sticking with it. She'd stay with the bench, even if no one else did. She'd assign importance to the bench, even if every other person in the world chose to ignore it and consider it nothing more than planks of wood nailed together. She leaned back and closed her eyes, thinking so very hard of what it would be like to have JJ sitting by her there in that very moment.

"I miss you," she said. "I know I don't deserve to say something like that, but I want to. I miss having you around. I miss the way you would make me feel. I haven't felt like that before. Ever. You're the first. I think I always knew it from the moment I saw you. Not consciously. Unconsciously." Emily took a deep breath before continuing. "I'm sorry I made you leave. I'm sorry I said those words to you. I just... I wish I could find a way to make you understand that I had to. I wasn't sure at the time, but I had a gut feeling, and now I'm sure. I'm absolutely sure that my gut feeling was right. My boss called. I never told you about him, but he isn't all that interesting anyway.

"I never told you about Doyle either. But if you knew, maybe you'd understand. It hurts to know what I put you through. The thing is, I'd do it again. Over and over again. You'll move on. You'll find someone who can give themselves to you, the real them. You'll have a family and a beautiful house, and you'll be happy. That's all that matters right now."

Wind channeled between the trees and pushed against her face as if in response to her words.

She smiled as the cool air pressed against her.

Why?

She understood, now. She understood better, and it made the pain in her chest subside that little bit.

As a result of all of this, JJ would be safe. JJ would be happy.

In the end, that was enough for Emily.

* * *

**Six months before she left**

"Um, Emily?"

The plastic blinds fluttered shut with a quick snap.

"Yes?"

"What are you doing?"

She looked around at the room. At the television that had been made to spout random noise from some reality show neither of the two women would ever really watch. At the miniature bottles of Jack Daniel's and Grey Goose pilfered from the minibar hanging on the edges of the window panes. At the Bible balanced on the doorknob of the front door. She looked around her in momentary bewilderment. She hadn't even realized what she had been doing. She couldn't even remember the last couple of minutes, only a faint blur.

"I have no idea."

"You look like you're waiting for Dr. No's henchmen to come knocking."

"Dr. No?"

"James Bond."

Emily threw herself at the unoccupied bed.

"Right, right, I know. I know James Bond." She peeked over at JJ. "Sorry. I think this case is getting to me."

"Well it really has got all the makings for some top secret action. Cryptic messages... Secret compartments... Redacted files with more black marker than actual text... It gets you thinking."

"I still don't think he's for real."

"And why not?"

"Did you see where he kept his gun?"

"Oh, and if you were in his place, where would you have kept your gun?"

"Easy. Anywhere it's easy to get too. He put it in a book, for Christ's sake."

"And would you have rigged the entire room?"

JJ motioned around the room, which was, indeed, a strange sight that the Best Western employees were most definitely going to wonder at after the team checked out. Emily plastered a sheepish expression across her face as she followed JJ's revealing hand. Stupid. Careless. She shouldn't have been so careless. She hadn't even realized she was doing it in the first place! And JJ was sitting right there! In the same room!

"Hey, Em. It's okay."

"Hm?"

"You zoned out again." JJ wiggled her eyebrows. "Getting flashbacks from your high-speed days at Interpol?"

"Oh, you have no idea."

"I'm sure it was all quite the experience."

Emily flashed a weak, tight-lipped smile, slightly nodding in response. She let her mind race towards a million different possible directions she could take this conversation, once again chastising herself for being so careless.

"Don't worry about it, 007. I like mysterious."

And with that, Emily Prentiss didn't even mind.

* * *

Her phone began to vibrate in her pocket, so she pulled it out and set it aside on the bench beside her, in hopes that she wouldn't be able to feel it anymore against her thigh. She could hear it all the same, and the phone lightly sent tremors through the old wood. She didn't know why it was so hard, ignoring something as insignificant as a little phone and some ringing, but it seemed as though the phone would never stop vibrating, never stop calling out to her, begging to be answered. She knew though, that there were very few reasons someone would be calling her at this hour, and she knew it could be him.

Taunting her.

Playing mind games with her.

She hadn't realized she had been holding her breath when the phone stilled, but she quickly sucked in the air gratefully, suddenly aware of just how much she missed breathing. Only it began again. The ringing. The vibrating. She reached down for it, closing her eyes so she wouldn't have to see the caller ID, hoping that maybe she could prolong the absolute knowledge that it could be him on the other end of the line. She cracked her eyes open every so slightly, slowly revealing the number of the BAU office phone.

And for a moment she forgot, plowing through the motions she had done so many times before, excitedly anticipating her voice on the phone.

"Prentiss?"

That was when she remembered. The voice continued.

"Is everything alright? Garcia said she couldn't get a hold of you."

"I'm fine. I think my phone was on silent." The lie came easy. "What's going on?"

"We've got another case."

"I can be there in forty-five minutes. Do you know anything yet?"

"From what I could pull from Garcia? Looks like we're headed towards Colorado. We've got a serial arsonist who just upgraded to murder."

"Outstanding," Emily muttered, a grimace forming. "Thanks, Morgan. I'll see you soon."

She switched her phone on silent, giving her earlier lie and slice of credibility. All she wanted to do was avoid the earlier debacle. She by no means wanted to hear her voice. In fact, she wanted to pretend as though she were completely and utterly wrong. As she walked towards her car, she wondered. She wondered who it was exactly the Irishman would be looking for. Emily Prentiss? Or Lauren Reynolds?

She wondered which one she would let him find.

Most of all, she wondered which one she, in fact, herself preferred.

* * *

**Six years before she left**

"Good morning, Prentiss. Have a seat."

"Cut the crap, sir. I know what this is about."

The man rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb; "Please, just sit down, and let's talk about this."

"I don't want to talk about this, sir. You're not going to send me away."

"That's not your decision to make. It never has been. As of right now, I'm still your superior. So you will sit down if you know what's good for you."

Reluctantly, Emily conceded, sinking down into the plush chair on the other side of the desk. Her eyes traced the little trinkets scattered around the oak, finding interest in the little bits of Italy the man constantly kept around. Eventually, though, she settled at staring at him. Eye to eye. As though she could make the older man back down with nothing more than a simple glance.

"I'm not leaving, sir. This is my case. This is my team. Haven't I done good work for you? I'm the best you have, sir. No one else here can profile terrorists like I do. No one else goes undercover like I do. And the result is that we crack cases. We have the best record in the agency. Do you think we would have been able to catch Ian Doyle without my work? With what I was able to do? This is my job, and I do it well. So, please, sir. With all due respect, let me get on with it."

"Agent." He silenced Emily with a wave of his hand. "I understand all of this. You have indeed been a valuable asset to Interpol. No one is doubting that. However..."

"However?"

"_However_," he continued, "higher has already made their decision. A decision that I am sorry to say that I agree with. You preformed admirably on the Doyle case, but I'm afraid this is where it ends for you. The papers have already been signed, and there is nothing further that you can do to change this course of events."

"I don't understand, sir."

"We've decided that you have... How do I put this delicately? We've decided that you've come to the end of your line. Every agent in this line of work with your particular skill set does. You must have been aware of this, that this day would one day come. You worked Human Intelligence in the service, no? It's the same principle."

Emily continued to stare the man down, refusing to waver or even glance away. She wanted to make the man sweat. She wanted to make the man relent.

With a sigh, the man resumed his little speech; "We've successfully 'killed' Lauren Reynolds. But do you think that's enough? What of your other aliases? And your face? People aren't apt to forget a face after the _notorious_ Ian Doyle gets put away, no?"

"I still have plenty of aliases I haven't burned yet."

"That isn't the point. I'm sure you are aware why we only usually assign an agent three identities at a time."

"Of course, I am."

"And how many do you have?"

"It doesn't matter. I can handle it."

"You can tell yourself that, but that doesn't make it true. I've done you a favor, agent, taking time to explain all of this to you. I could have simply had you one your way without a word. I won't lie; higher is more than eager to hand you back off to the United States government. But, as we all do, I have a job. And my time is a very valuable thing that I cannot just give away as I please. Now let me put this in the simplest of terms possible, so that you might finally understand what our intent is. You are what you are, Prentiss. A tool. In fact, I'm aware that this, rather impersonal part of the job, is what initially appealed to you. Here is the bottom line.

"You are no longer useful to us."

Those were the magic words, and it wasn't long before Emily had what few possessions she had stacked neatly in a box.

He knew exactly the right words to say to have her leave without another word.

A tool, after all, has one, singular purpose.


	3. The Velocity of Saul

**The Velocity of Saul at the Time of His Conversation**

by Okkervil River (youtube... watch?v=d4S5wxHmA4Q)

* * *

"None of us can help the things life has done to us. They're done before you realize it, and once they're done they make you do other things until at last everything comes between you and what you'd like to be, and you've lost your true self forever." - Eugene O'Neill

* * *

When she thought about it, she knew that the truth was that she wanted nothing more than to hurt Emily. And when she thought about it, thought very very hard, she knew that this was precisely the reason why she had done what she did. But knowing all of this, coming to these revelations, did nothing to ease the guilt that had begun to eat away at her. So she closed her eyes, and tried not to think about it. She tried not to think about the words Emily had said. She tried not to think about what she herself had done only nights before. The words she herself had said.

Because for those, she had only herself to blame.

"Hey. Earth to JJ. You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah." She repeated her words as though she needed to reaffirm what she meant. "I'm fine, Garcia. Really."

"Are you sure? Have they been treating you okay at the Pentagon? You know I could probably hack..."

"I'm telling you the truth," JJ said, with a small smile. "Everything's fine."

That's when Garcia squealed. Quickly, JJ turned her head around to see Hotch, Rossi, Morgan, and Reid walk through the restaurant doors, the chimes tapping against the glass as they passed by. Morgan rolled his eyes as Reid tried to list off a series of numbers. The four quickly found their seats, smiling as they caught sight of their former colleague.

"My point is that we probably could have gotten here sooner if you hadn't been driving like a madman."

"I was not driving like a madman. And for the record, the only way to get someplace quicker is to drive fast."

"Tell that to the officer who stopped us."

JJ smiled; "It's good to see you again, Spence."

He smiled back.

"What? Nothing for me?"

"You, too, Morgan."

She stole a quick glance at the empty seat at the table, suddenly filled with an emotion she couldn't quite place. She couldn't tell, really, if she were worried or relieved. She couldn't stop her eyes flickering between the seat and the door, her ears tuned to the sound of jingling chimes.

"She'll be here," said Garcia. "She said she had some errands to run in DC, but she'll be here soon."

"I'm sure she's busy."

Rossi's stomach made a bubbling noise, and he shrugged; "What? I'm hungry. I haven't eaten since this morning."

JJ didn't know how Emily managed to look the way she did. A part of her supposed Emily would have looked the same as the last time she saw her - a woman on the edge of breaking down. Falling apart. This woman was composed. Calculated. Guarded. She almost didn't see the way Emily scanned the entire room - every single face - before fully committing on entering.

"I'm sorry, I'm late," she said, almost breathless. "I had to meet quickly meet someone."

"Are you okay?" Morgan asked.

And there it was. The tiredness in Emily's eyes. JJ could feel it in the air, even. She wondered if she could reach out and touch it.

"I'd rather not talk about it."

The team left the matter alone. After all, they were here to see JJ. They were here to catch up. There would be other times to decipher the strange behavior Emily had been displaying of late. JJ felt the anger stir up in her stomach again, as her eyes glanced over the other agent, as the other agent spoke. She couldn't stop replaying the words in her head.

The ones that broke her heart.

* * *

**Four years before she left**

She remembered Emily's first day on the job. She could hear Hotch and Gideon argue about the other agent's fate from her office. After all, she was bored and she couldn't help but eavesdrop on the situation. Especially not after catching a glimpse over her after stepping into Hotch's office before the St. Louis case. Even more after listening to the agent translate the Arabic.

"I'll be five minutes."

"I think you should take Prentiss with you to Guantanamo."

"Excuse me?"

"She could be of help."

"I don't know enough about her abilities." Gideon sounded surprised by the entire request. "There's plenty for her to do back here."

"Well, I don't know what she's capable of either, but we've got to find out sooner or later."

The two agents walked out the door of the office, and JJ found herself drawn towards the direction of the voices, interested in the outcome of the conversation. Invested, almost.

"It's an interrogation, not a training exercise."

"She's the only member of the team fluent in Arabic."

JJ could see out from between the blinds of her office. Only she wasn't looking at the source of the conversation she was listening to her. Instead, her eyes found Emily, who had also, apparently, been doing the same thing as her. She watched as the older agent slowly stood up from the chair at her desk.

"Well, there are translators," argued Gideon.

Hotch volleyed back; "But they haven't studied behavior."

"Does she even have a ready bag, yet?"

JJ almost laughed as she watched the entire scene unfold before her eyes. Emily, ever so silently, moved to grab a plain duffel from beneath her desk. It was as squared away as it could have been. She put a hand over her mouth as she tried to contain herself, as Emily shifted around, half pretending that she hadn't heard a single word of the conversation and that the ready bag just happened to have settled on top of her desk.

"My guess is there isn't much this women isn't prepared for."

Right he was. How very right he was.

"Car leaves in four minutes."

"Yes, sir."

As she saw the smile unfold across Emily Prentiss' face, she couldn't help but be absolutely and incredibly intrigued by the sudden addition to the team.

It would be later that she learned that the agent could even beat Reid at chess.

Now that was something.

* * *

"So are you seeing anyone?" Garcia seemed to have wanted to ask the question from the very beginning. "Come on, JJ! Tell us!"

"You already know the answer."

JJ looked away at the expectant eyes, desperately not wanting the answer the question. She knew, though, that she wouldn't be able to avoid doing so for much longer. Not when Garcia was the one asking her. The tech analyst really could be very persistent. She'd probably be able to do a lot of good during interviews.

"Yeah, but I want to hear it from you."

That had everyone hooked. Emily glanced up from the food she had been playing with. What was that that flashed over her eyes? Fear? Jealousy? Indifference? For all the years JJ had spent on the BAU surrounded by profilers, she could not for the life of her decipher the emotions beneath those eyes.

The anger bubbled up again. Simmered. Popped.

"Well, there has been this one guy."

"I knew it!"

"Is he smokin'?" asked Morgan, waggling his eyebrows.

She almost stopped, but the guilt was pushed aside by the sight of Emily, who had turned back to her plate, pushing the crushed up noodles into the shape of a square with her fork.

"Well, I would definitely like the hear more about this man."

"There really isn't much to say, Rossi."

"But I'm sure there is! There's always much to say about budding romances."

"This from the guy with four wives?"

"What can I say? I've had a lot of romances."

"His name is Will." JJ still had her eyes trained on Emily. On her face. On the way her body reacted to her words. "He's the detective we met in New Orleans. We've been seeing each other for a while now."

"How long?"

"A couple of months."

JJ watched as Emily's head shot up. She watched as Emily's eyes flickered back and forth as she drew up the math in the air. She watched as the realization set in, and for a moment, she felt a wave of satisfaction, a satisfaction she had been waiting for ever since she had left Emily's apartment. Ever since she had felt that strange emptiness hit her full force.

But then she saw it. She saw the walls momentarily crumble. For an instant, the eyes that were, only seconds ago, so hard to read, became like a grade school picture book, and she could read the bewilderment, plain and clear, as though Emily had just woken up from a nightmare with no recollection of where she was and what had happened.

It was as though the Emily from years ago, the Emily that had begun to open up to her, had jumped through time, finding herself in a terrifying new world.

Bewilderment.

Even after everything, JJ felt the sudden need to reach out to the other women before the walls could once again shoot up.

But, of course, she was too late.

The phone in Emily's pocket began to ring, and everyone looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to pick it up and answer. Reluctantly the agent caved, peeking down at the bright screen. The walls were back, and Emily's face became as still as a statue. JJ swore, though, that she saw Emily look towards her, a brief flash of absolute terror, a terror she had seen before, tearing through her eyes.

"I'm really sorry," she said, her voice a whisper. "Something came up. I... I have to go."

* * *

**Two weeks after she left**

All the paperwork had finally been passed up the chain of command at the FBI and again through the chain of command at the State Department. Supervisory Agent Jennifer Jareau was officially leaving the BAU, and as of the following Monday at 0600, she officially begin her tenure at the Pentagon.

She told the team that the decision had been out of her hands, that it had been out of Hotch's hands too. It wasn't a complete lie. The brass, for some reason, had made it their crusade to give JJ that promotion. What she hadn't disclosed, though, was how little she had actually protested. With Emily's words still fresh on her mind, she allowed the process to go along without a hitch. She hadn't even tried to stay.

"Why does it even have to be me that leaves?" she muttered as she cleared away the last of her things. "I didn't have the problem. She did."

She wouldn't admit it, but in the past weeks she had taken up talking to herself. It made the emptiness easier to deal with, easier to bear. For a moment, she considered walking over and talking to Emily, all before realizing that it was Emily that was the very center of her problem.

"So, why me?"

The truth was, she knew the answer. She knew it well.

She wasn't stupid. She knew that there was much more than the other agent let on.

And she knew that, no matter what, even if Emily didn't love her, even if Emily couldn't be around her, that they were still a family. She had seen the fear written all over Emily's face as she told her to take the job at the Pentagon. Fear that maybe JJ wouldn't listen to her pleas. Fear that was not meant for Emily but for her, JJ.

She left the office, unable to bear it any longer. She wanted to cry, and when she realized that the rest of the team was gone, consulting on a local case for the day, she was tempted to succumb. Still, she held them at bay, desperately attempting to keep her composure around everyone else.

She wouldn't leave yet. Not without a proper goodbye to the team. Instead, she settled down on a chair in the break room, propping her feet up on another chair across from her, her head falling to the side as she slept, waiting out the tiredness and the loneliness that had seeped into her heart.

There was a light breeze as the door to the break room opened, but she ignored it, and her eyes remained firmly clamped down. She could smell her perfume, and she pinched her face together as she pretended to stir in her sleep.

"I know you can't hear me right now, JJ, but... Well, that's kind of the point." Emily whispered her words, afraid that the woman would wake. "I'm sorry. I wish I could take it all back, but I can't. As it turns out, I was right. This is right. I just had to see you again before all of it starts, because when it does start, I won't be able to stop it. I'm sorry, JJ."

That's when she felt the lips press up against hers, and she almost pressed back. She almost wrapped her hands around Emily's neck, never to let her go.

She wanted to feel the hope that was supposed to come with a kiss, but this kiss... This kiss tore it all away.

She knew it for what it was.

A goodbye.

* * *

"How long has she been like this?"

JJ was careful to direct the question at Morgan as the group began to file out of the restaurant. It had been at least half an hour since Emily had suddenly walked out herself. Morgan grabbed a mint from the front, unwrapped it, and popped it in his mouth. He looked away as he moved the mint around his teeth with his tongue.

"Since you left. I think she thinks I haven't noticed, but she's been like this for a while. Getting visits from people we've never seen before. Getting weird phone calls. I wouldn't have thought twice about it, but, well, she's been acting different."

"Has anyone talked to her?"

"I thought you would."

The words hit JJ hard; "I.. I don't think I'm the one she wants to talk to."

"Fair. But I guess she doesn't really want to talk to anyone about it right now."

"She seems tired."

"It might be the caseload."

"No, it's more than that."

"You're right. It is. She's been on edge. I mean, she vets everyone we meet like she needs to be ready to assault _anyone_ at any moment. Even families. It's weird." Morgan looked down at JJ, his eyebrows pinched together in thought. "I'm glad you said something, though. I've been worried. Something's definitely going on."

"You promise me, won't you?"

"Promise you?"

"That you'll talk to her. At least try and make sure she's okay."

"I promise I'll do anything I can. And I promise we'll call you if anything comes up."

JJ nodded, satisfied that she had done her part before peeling away from the group, passing out her goodbyes and see-you-again-later's.

In a moment, she would find Will, and she would be with him. She would be with him in a way Emily would never allow. Because, in the end, Will would never say those things to her. Will would never make her leave, and he would never ever leave himself. No. Will would be there, just as he had been there weeks and weeks ago to pick up the pieces that Emily had left behind.


	4. Those Shoes

**Those Shoes**

by the Eagles (youtube... watch?v=_ywfnnCBERY)

* * *

"Upon this a question arises: whether it better to be loved than feared or feared than loved? It may be answered that one should wish to be both, but, because it is difficult to unite them in one person, it is much safer to be feared than loved, when, of the two, either must be dispensed with." - Niccolo Machiavelli

* * *

"I knew you were watching me."

"What's the expression?" He removed his hand from between her shoulder blades. "Keep your friends close, your enemies on surveillance?"

"I've been here for two hours. You should know better than to keep a lady waiting."

"Seems hypocritical. Seeing as I had to wait seven years."

"Hello, Ian."

Doyle set himself down on he seat across from Emily; "Hello, Lauren. Oh wait. Lauren Reynolds died in a car accident, didn't she?"

"What do you want?"

Emily slowed her words, pronouncing each syllable with sharp flicks of her tongue. She tasted every part of each and every word. She wasn't going to make a mistake. She wasn't going to slip.

"You." Doyle smirked at Emily's expression. "Oh, not today. Don't worry about that. But soon."

"I've got a glock leveled at your crotch. What's to stop me from taking you and the little ones out right now?"

"You'd never make it back to your car, and you know it," he said, and he exuded an air of arrogance that Emily could almost see, an arrogance that made her gut turn and squeeze. "Tell me. Does the lovely Penelope know the truth about you? Or is she too busy watching movies with Derek to care? Here you are, all alone, while Aaron sits at home with his son. And why didn't they actually invite you to their game night? Maybe they'd thought you were on the Metro with Dr. Reid. Well that one does have some quirks."

"Come near my team, and I will end you."

A part of her was tempted to shoot him there, right and then, taking out the head of snake. It would come with a price, of course, a hail of bullets in her direction. A part of her didn't care, though. She imagined what it would be like to press down on the trigger. But a snake can grow a second head. This had to be done right. Just in case.

There was another part of her, buried deep in her head, that she would never admit to. It was the part of her that was glad and Doyle's words. Glad because this, once and for all, confirmed that Emily had indeed made the best decision she could have.

Doyle didn't mention JJ. The name Jennifer Jareau never even touched his lips.

"I don't have a qualm with them. How long that remains the case depends entirely on you. They're innocent. You are not."

"I was doing my job."

"I think you did a little more than that. You took the only thing that mattered to me. So I'm going to take the only thing that matters from you." Doyle smirked again, and Emily felt a drop of sweat roll down her back. The fear was back. The fear that maybe she had been wrong, that the lengths she had taken had not been enough. "Your life."

Emily closed her eyes, as a small breath of air, unnoticed by Doyle, left her lips. She blinked, drinking in the relief that suddenly engulfed her.

"Your life."

She replied the words in her head to ensure that she had heard right, that she hadn't been fooling herself. Because this, this she could easily take. This was easy to deal with. This she could handle losing. She suppressed a smile.

"Honore de Balzac once said, 'Most people of action are inclined to fatalism and most of thought believe in providence." Doyle stood as Emily kept her face still, her skin like stone. "Tell me, Emily Prentiss. Which do you think you're going to be?"

The truth was, she already knew.

* * *

**Five days before she left**

After years of working undercover, Emily had learned to trust her gut. She had learned to plan to every contingency, to be absolutely thorough in every part of an operation, but most of all, she had learned to trust her gut. Some might call it superstition. Or extreme paranoia from her days working intel. But her gut very rarely let her down, and her gut never lied.

She knew that there were elements that she could easily miss, elements that her brain cataloged nonetheless. Maybe a face. A voice. A trinket left behind.

It was safer to assume that everything was intentional, that anything could go wrong.

Especially when the back of her neck tingled, causing little hairs all across her body to stand rigid in anticipation.

She didn't want to think about it, but she knew, deep down inside, that he was back. That somehow he had escaped. She had known this could happen, that this was a contingency. Ian Doyle had been locked up before. Of course, he had been locked up in minor, amateurish institutions, but the man was dangerous, and he had his methods.

You didn't get to be Valhalla for nothing.

Commando training. Former prisoner of war. Weapons expert.

Ian Doyle had his faults, but he was most certainly a skilled man. They knew his behavior. They knew only a fraction of his skill set.

So, when she had seen the vase at the concierge desk of her apartment filled with those all too familiar flowers, Emily's brain went into overload. Hyperspeed. And she followed her first instinct. Her first instinct to ensure the safety of everyone she knew.

As she jumped into her car, she arranged for an encrypted message to be sent to Tom, and immediately she headed south towards Quantico. Towards JJ.

If there was one thing about driving in DC that she could appreciate, it was the ease at which she could lose a trail. The traffic lights flashed green, yellow, and red at seemingly nonsensical intervals, and there was never a moment when vehicles could simply drive uninterrupted for any significant length of time. Normally, it would have annoyed her to all hell. But, today, as she twisted and turned through the DC streets before finally leaving the city, she was thankful for it.

She wondered, for a moment, if the design had been entirely intentional.

Emily caught sight of the blond leaving the supermarket, and she felt the anxiety leave her, her muscles relaxing into the fabric of her car seat. JJ piled the bags of groceries into the back of her minivan, and Emily took the time to examine their surroundings, examining each and every car in the lot, scanning for any object even remotely out of place, and reading the micro-expressions twitching across each and every passerby's face, no matter how far away or seemingly insignificant.

Be polite, be professional, but have a plan to kill everyone you meet.

She had learned that as a Marine. As a moto statement designed to get the blood flowing.

It wasn't she started working undercover at Interpol that she truly understood its importance.

Especially for moments like these.

Secure in JJ's current safety, Emily took the last remaining moments to read JJ. To double check. To go over her once more in the best way she knew how.

In that moment, she wouldn't have it. She wouldn't let it happen, and her eyes locked in determination as it dawned on her just what she needed to do. As JJ drove away, Emily continued to tail her for the rest of the afternoon, continuing with her routine of eliminating any potential threats lingering around.

When she left, finally, to check on the other members of her team, the locked expression never left her face.

Her course of action was clear. She had to take it. She could not falter.

* * *

Unlike the Metro cars in New York, the Metro cars in DC didn't have seats pressed up against the walls. Instead, they emulated the older trains, lined with little rows of two, leaving one's back exposed to either one entrance or the other. Tactically inept. Terrible design. But then again, Metro cars weren't designed for tactical situations. Emily sat down on the disabled seat, the only position allowing her full view of the entire car and each and every door.

Clyde sat down in the seat beside her. She jumped at the movement.

"Luckily for you, I'm not working for Doyle," he said, the words spilling out of his mouth in French. "We got on three stops ago."

"We?"

Tsia made her way down the empty car; "You okay?"

"Ian Doyle is here." She wasn't going to stop for pleasantries. "In DC."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I sat next to him last night."

"What?"

"He said if I warned my team or told anyone he would kill them."

"Why didn't he kill you?"

Clyde continued the line of questioning; "And more to the point, why didn't you kill him?"

"He isn't working alone. He's meticulous. He plans everything to the last detail."

"Yeah. That last detail being you."

Emily looked away at Clyde's words. She hadn't forgotten that her former colleague could profile as well. After all, he had been the one to teach her most of her trade. She didn't want him to see her face, that at this point, this was precisely what she wanted, what she had been counting on and planning for. She didn't want him to know that she didn't care in the slightest. She moved the little muscles in her face to relay otherwise.

"Maybe you _should_ tell your team."

"No. No way. This isn't their fight. And I won't take that risk."

"Wait, wait." Clyde tried to stop the flow of the conversation. "When you went undercover, I promised you I wouldn't let anything happen to you."

"I'm not undercover anymore." Her next words were forceful. "DC isn't his comfort zone - it's mine. This ends here."

With that, Emily left the empty subway car, leaving behind her two former colleagues. She had gotten a call. A new case. She couldn't let on what was going on, not to her team. Not to anyone. Not fully. She memorized all the little micro-expressions she would have to show in order to make everything appear as she needed it to be. She would not - she could not - let her team profile her.

She hadn't expected Garcia to be the first one to ask.

"What's his name?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh. Answering a question with a question. That's interesting."

"Stop it," she said, the fear beginning to start in her gut.

"Stop what? Probing?"

"Seriously..."

"I'm going to make it my life's work to find out who this boy is so you might as well..."

That was all she needed for the fear to start to a boil; "Stop! Just stop. We have enough to worry about already, don't we?"

As Emily walked away with the rest of the team, she couldn't help but feel the guilt at feeling some measure of relief at her ability to push Garcia away. Anything to keep JJ and the team safe. Anything. And words were quite the weapon. That she knew better than anyone else.

Reid came after Rossi. But to his credit, he hadn't started it.

"Are you okay?"

She wondered if Doyle had already broken his promise and had gone after the young man.

"Yeah," he answered. His face was glued to his desk. "I'm sure these victims overlapped, and Garcia pulled their phone numbers, but so far I can't find anything."

Emily ignored the deflection; "You just jumped."

"I'm having these really intense headaches lately."

"Have you seen a doctor?"

Doyle, it could be Doyle. What did he use? Poison?

"Yeah, a few, but none of them have been able to figure it out."

"Oh. I'm sorry." She couldn't help but once again feel a measure of relief. "Does anyone know?"

"You." Reid looked back and forth between his desk and the woman. "What about you?"

"I'm good."

"You've been, uh, picking your fingernails again. You only do that when you're stressed."

"It's just a bad habit," she explained, sheepishly.

She hadn't expected Reid to have been the one on the team to almost break her, to almost break her resolve and the plan. She had never had a younger brother, but she supposed Reid was just that. A little brother. She wished almost that she could set a better example, that she could be better to him, to all of them.

She knew that Morgan would start, sooner or later. He always did. He watched as she, for the fifteenth time that drive, look out the window behind them.

"What, are we being followed, 007?"

"No." She flinched at the nickname. Only JJ could call her that. No one else. Only JJ. She snapped at the thought. "You should go through the city. 66th is going to be miserable right now."

"We'll get there when we get there."

"Oh, before Doyle takes somebody else out? He's shooting up federal agents. What's he going to do next?"

"Yeah? So what would you like me to do?"

"Get _creative_ with your driving."

"I'm working on it!" He took a deep breath. "You know, Emily, you really need to trust people."

"I trust people," she said, laughing inwardly to herself.

Laughing because Derek knew everything and nothing at once. Laughing because was right. She didn't trust anyone. Laughing because he was wrong. She didn't need to. She needed not to. Trust was a funny thing.

"No, you don't." He kept his eyes trained on the road. "Garcia told me what happened earlier, in the bathroom."

"What?"

"She said you told her that she always made you smile, and that you never got the chance to tell her that."

"So?"

"So, that sounds like a goodbye to me. What's going on, Emily?"

"Nothing. Nothing's going on."

"I get it. Every time you try to trust someone or count on someone, they let you down, so you go it alone. You'll never admit that because you're just too damn stubborn. It's alright. It doesn't really matter. But I'll tell you what does matter. That you can trust me, Emily. With anything. I'm serious. I promise you, no matter how horrible you think it is, I promise you, you are not alone. I just wish you'd believe that."

"I do." She tried to search for the words. "You profile me again, you'll wish you hadn't."

After a silence, the two agents began to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Of the case. Of every case. Of themselves.

In her mind, Emily spread the cement over her plan, satisfied with yet another cryptic goodbye to the team. At least she had said something. At least she put it out there, in her own way.

* * *

**Nine years before she left**

She had to come up with name. Normally she didn't like patterns. Patterns were too easy for the enemy to predict. But in this case, patterns were the key. Patterns made it easier to remember the nuances. The details. Of course, the pattern couldn't be too obvious, not to the target. It only needed to obvious to herself and herself alone.

Her last identity had been Ellen Paladino. A second generation Italian-American who had decided to return to Italy to explore her heritage. And her connections to low-level Sicilian mobsters. Ellen Paladino liked baseball, and she only ate her mother's gnocchi and no one else's.

Before that, she had taken on the persona of Leila Rahal. Part Egyptian, Leila Rahal left Britain, disillusioned with Western ways. She made her way to Pakistan where she infiltrated small terrorist camps with the promise of blackmarket, high-end medical supplies.

And then there had been Elizabeth Perot in Prague. And Lisa Royce. Erica Petrakov. Lara Radcliff. Edith Packard.

Leigh Reilly. Eleanor Preston. Lucy Robinson.

She knew then.

She had made her choice and instantly felt the rush of excitement shoot through her veins. This was her favorite part.

Lauren Reynolds.

An arms dealer with rather admirable connections and an additional interest of expanding those connections with the IRA. Hailing from Boston, Lauren Reynolds grew up the daughter of a widowed longshoreman on turf protected by an Irish mob family. Lauren Reynolds remembered this. Even after she received a scholarship to attend school in Paris, where she became fluent in a number of European languages.

Spontaneous. An adrenaline junkie. Loves nothing more than watching things just go... boom.

But with morals, of course. A modified black and white view of the world she had inherited from her blue-collar father. After all, she couldn't make it too easy for Ian Doyle. She had to give him a hook. This was that.

These were among of Lauren Reynolds' traits.

She scribbled them down as she committed them to memory. As she became Lauren Reynolds.

Others on her team would figure out the technicalities, drawing up birth certificates and passports and papers proving that she had indeed completed her collegiate schooling in France. She would ensure that everything else would go smoothly. She knew Clyde was worried, but she was far from that.

She had it all burned in her head. All the things she needed to say. All the things she needed to do.

She built Lauren Reynolds. Made her more than an alias. She made her a person.

Favorite food? Fresh bread and cheese from a small _boulengerie_ in Paris.

Drink? Some days she would say wine. On others, she might say whiskey.

She would follow the Bruins to the death. On her fifteenth birthday, she got to go to a game. Canucks. The Bruins won 3-4 in overtime.

Favorite weapon? 50 cal. machine gun.

You can't miss.

* * *

Morgan stood over the body on Ninth Street examining the wounds inflicted. It didn't go unnoticed that Emily had stopped just short of the door and was staring, motionless, at the female victim. He took a deep breath and walked towards his partner; "This took two to the chest. He went quickly." He stepped beside Emily. "And one to the head. The holes were made by a .45. So she comes through the door and then shoots her. She didn't stand a chance. This has to be the work of our guy. She might be on our list, we should run her prints."

Emily felt her gut to a back flip. And then three front flips to boot.

She had told Tsia to come here. To get away from Clyde.

Which meant that, ultimately, she was responsible. For this. She looked over at Morgan. She couldn't keep members of her former team safe. What did that say about her? What did that say about her ability to ensure the safety of her current one? She took a deep breath before turning away.

"I need to get some air."

She knew Morgan would follow up on her. Check up on her suspicious behavior. She used her tongue to press on her gag reflex, and she quickly held back her hair.

"What'd you do? Pull a whiskey pete?"

Exactly according to Plan.

"Uh, I don't know what that means. But if it involves getting vomit on your boots then yeah, I'm guilty."

"You need a soda? What can I do?"

She cleared her throat, interrupting him; "I live ten minutes from here. Think we can swing by? I think I got some on my pants, too."

"Hotch wants us to get back."

"I know. I'll be really quick. I promise."

She wiped her mouth as they made their way towards Emily's apartment, satisfied at the step-by-step completion of her plan. Morgan waited in the car as she slipped out, and she half-jogged into the building.

Quickly she changed, as she said she would. But not before flushing the necklace Doyle had given her - or rather, Lauren Reynolds - down the toilet. She left the safe open, the files in plain view. She knew, after this, that they would come looking. That they would find out. Now she knew there was no way she could stop it from unfolding. Not after this case.

So, she left them what she could. Tidbits of information she had kept safe all these years.

Later, she watched Hotch give a profile to a room filled with people she wished would just go away. She found everyone with her eyes, scanning across the room. Everyone except for JJ. She had done everything she could have done from this side. Now, it was time. Time to take the step she had been hoping, for seven years, to avoid.

She knew where Ian Doyle was.

She had already said her goodbyes.

* * *

"I think it better to do right, even if we suffer in so doing than to incur the reproach of our consciousness and posterity." - Robert E. Lee


	5. Surrender

**Surrender**

by K.d. Lang

* * *

"All time is time. It does not change. It does not lend itself to warnings or explanations. It simply is. Take it moment by moment, and you will find that we are all, as I've said before, bugs in amber." - Kurt Vonnegut

* * *

The phone rang three times before she found it within herself to remove herself from beneath the covers and towards the table on the other side of the room. She could hear Will shift behind her, sitting up in the bed. She could feel his curious eyes gazing at the back of her head.

"This is Jareau."

"JJ."

"Morgan?"

At this, Will moved over to switch the bedside lamp on, so that the two of them could see. Neither of them spoke in the dim light. Will yawned as he stuck his legs out of the bed, eventually finding the floor. He put a light hand on her shoulder when he left the room. It wasn't long before she heard water begin to boil in the kitchen.

"Remember when I promised you that I would call you if something came up?"

"Of course, I do."

"Something came up, JJ."

"What happened?"

She hadn't wanted to ask, but the words left her before she could stop them. She didn't want to know the answer. She didn't want something to be wrong, and she didn't want the answer to be real. She wished she could cover her ears.

"She left her badge and gun."

"What?"

"JJ, you need to be here. We need you."

She burst out of the bedroom, causing Will to nearly drop the travel mug of coffee he held in his hand. The phone threatened to slip from her sweaty palms as she began to throw her things together.

"Is something wrong?" he said, the Louisiana drawl slow out of his mouth, and it was all she could do but nod. "I figured. Your car keys are on the counter, and I made you some coffee."

For a moment, she stopped; "Thank you, Will. I know you're only here for the weekend, but..."

"Go. I'll still be around when you come back. Go be with your team."

She grabbed the keys and kissed him as she left, immediately regretting doing so. As the door slammed shut behind her, she unconsciously wiped at her lips with the back of her sleeve. She wished she could run all the way back to the Marine Corps base, as if moving her legs would cause her to arrive sooner. Her legs itched as she sat in the car, and dread began to swirl down over her eyes.

JJ walked into the bullpen, and in that moment, as she watched their gazes fall upon her, she wondered what Emily would do. How she would act. How she would handle all the emotions threatening to break her.

"Let's get to work," she said, but she felt a million miles away.

After just an hour, her head began to throb, and she wished she could just take her brain out into the air if only to alleviate the pressure for a few seconds at the least. But she finally had something. If she could call it that. She looked up at the briefing screen that she had, at one time, filled with countless photos of crime scenes and victims.

And now, it was Emily's face blinking onto the screen.

"So I talked to a friend from Langley. He couldn't give me Emily's full CIA history, but he could give me this." She looked over the blacked out text. How much had she ever really known about Emily? After all these years? She blinked back emotion as she continued; "She assumed the identity of Lauren Reynolds as part of a task force called JTF-12."

"I've heard about them," mused Rossi. "They were profiling terrorists, weren't they?"

"Yes."

"How does Doyle fit into all of this?"

"He was their last case." Her fingers, hidden from view by her side, began to tremble. "And now the members of the task force are on his hit list."

It was Hotch, as expected, who voiced their next concerns; "If all they did was deliver a profile, how does Doyle even know about them?"

JJ, on the other hand, had been hoping for the opposite, as though she could pretend that, if she didn't say it out loud, it would all be make believe, and that if she did put the words out into the air, she would be the one to make it all real. The fact that, despite all the time they had spent together, none of them had the slightest inclination as to who Emily Prentiss was. _She_ didn't have the slightest inclination as to who Emily Prentiss was.

"Considering the shadowy nature of terrorist cells, they utilize a skill we don't. Infiltration."

"Who was undercover on Doyle?"

JJ took another deep breath; "Emily," she said. "She made contact with him in Boston."

"Look at how she's dressed," muttered Morgan. "She seems awfully comfortable."

"How close did she get to Doyle as part of her cover?" asked Hotch.

"The recon they did on Doyle included a background check of all his romantic relationships." JJ wanted to slam the clicker down onto the table and run out of the brief. "Emily was his type."

She wondered then, how far Emily had gone. She wondered how much the two had shared. But most of all, above all else, JJ wondered how much about Emily Ian Doyle knew. If Ian Doyle, at the end of the day, knew more about the woman than JJ ever had. She swallowed and walked out of the room.

Later, she watched as Rossi and Morgan walked back into the bullpen.

"What did you find?" Her voice reached them before they could even beginning opening their mouths. "Was there anything there?"

"It's called a gimmel ring," Rossi started. "The husband and wife to be wore identical rings during the engagement. And then at the wedding, they come together."

That was all JJ needed, and she rushed away in search of a corner where she could be alone. It all came crashing down. Eventually, she found her way back to her old office, her copy of the case file in her hands. She spread the paper out on the desk. The pictures of Doyle and Emily together. One of them kissing. The profile Emily had written on him.

"Do you need to talk?"

Rossi's voice ripped her from her thoughts."

"I... No."

"Something's bothering you."

She knew then, that she couldn't handle it any longer; "How much did we really know about her? We worked with her for five years. She was... And she just ran. To him."

"You think that's what this is about?"

"What else am I supposed to think?"

"Well, for one, you've seen the other victims. Doyle's killing families. And she's not married. Not close to relatives. He was ready to wipe us out. She ran to protect us. To protect you."

"Protect me? I doubt it."

"She's not running to him, JJ, and she's not running away. She left her badge, her gun, her passports... She left behind everything she would need. What does that tell you?"

"I don't know," JJ said, and she turned away, exasperated.

"She's running at him. She's taking the fight to him. Doyle had us in his crosshairs, and she did everything she could to get us out. Even if that meant stepping in."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that she could have easily disappeared. She's a trained spy. But then, who would Doyle go after?" He stopped, remembering what Emily had said to him earlier, the look on her face that he should have recognized, simply because he had seen it before in so many of the men that he had led. "What was the last thing she ever said to you?"

"What?"

"This is important. What was the last thing she said to you, JJ? You have to remember."

It was easier to remember than she would have liked to admitted, but the events of that day had already been branded into her frontal lobe.

"She said that she had to see me again before it all started, that when it did start, she wouldn't be able to stop it." Her next words were a whisper. "She told me she was sorry, and then..."

And then she had kissed her. And it had felt like a goodbye.

But she thought that Emily meant that they wouldn't see each other again. Not this. Never this. As angry as she was at the other woman, as hurt as she had been, she would never want this. JJ turned away from Rossi as the tears began to touch the corners of her eyes.

"Get to the jet." Hotch's voice at the door was urgent. "We found her."

* * *

**One day before she left**

"That is nice," JJ said, smiling. "You know, for all the time I spend living in the area, I never spend much time in DC. I should start more."

"I've always loved it here. This was my favorite place to be whenever my mother traveled. I never minded it as much when we got to come here."

JJ watched as Emily looked out over at the Potomac River, and she wondered what it would be like to hold the other woman's hand. She blushed at the thought and turned her head as they continued to walk. She thought about the case they had just had. They had caught the unsub in time, and not a single person died. A perfect case. A no-hitter.

"You know that I care about you, right?"

The words surprised JJ, and she looked over at Emily questioningly; "Of course, I do. We're a family. That's how we work."

"No, not like that. Well, yes like that. I don't know." Emily looked down. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. What's on your mind?"

JJ expected Emily to deflect, to answer her question with yet another question. But she wanted to have at least tried. She had noticed the little circles beginning to form around Emily's eyes. She had noticed her jump at small things. She had noticed the way she had begun to chew at her nails again.

"I've been having this dream." The two women, at this point, had stopped walking, and they leaned over the bar facing the river. "There's this girl with dark hair on this mountain. She's happy and she's dancing in the sun, and I know that I have to go up there and find her. But by the time I get up there, she's gone, and I start to panic, because I know." Emily turned, her eyes focused on JJ. "I know what's waiting out there in the world for her, and what the world can do to someone so wonderful. Like you."

Emily's hand, at some point, had found JJ's, and they didn't speak for a while. JJ looked down at the dark water, trying to find the words she wanted to say. She felt Emily look down at their hands. She felt her surprise. And she felt her move quickly away.

She was at an even deeper loss for words.

Her thoughts were interrupted and promptly forgotten at Emily's excitement.

"There it is!"

"There what is?"

"The reason why we came here." She smiled as Emily pulled her towards the side of the road. "Food truck," said the agent, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

A woman stuck her head out of the side of the yellow and orange truck and looked at the pair expectantly as Emily peered over the menu tacked beside the window.

"Two Classic Macs and two sodas." Emily turned towards JJ. "I swear, this is the best mac and cheese you'll get in the city."

"I'm going to hold you to that," she whispered, the thought of Emily's hand on hers still thick in her mind.

They ate, the steam rising up from the hot food, dancing in the air before shivering and disappearing. The Potomac glistened before them, reflecting off the lights from the buildings and the cars and the bridges that spanned across. She thought they were like stars, like the stars she used to look up at when she was a little girl growing up in East Allegheny.

Soon, they had made their way back to Emily's apartment, the gooey cheese and noodles still warm in their stomachs. They walked into the lobby.

"You parked your car in the lot, right?" Emily said.

"Next to yours." They were alone in the lobby. JJ assumed that the concierge had stepped out to help one of the other tenants. "I had fun tonight, Emily. Thank you."

"My pleasure."

"And Emily? What you said earlier? I care about you. I know what you mean, and I care about you, too."

It was as though that same invisible force that had drawn Emily's hand to JJ's started its work once more, and suddenly, JJ could feel Emily's breath on her cheek. She could feel the ripples in the air as Emily's chest moved up and down and up and down. She let that invisible force move her, and she found that her fingers had wrapped around the back of Emily's neck, her thumb running circles around the skin as she pulled her close.

"You do?" whispered Emily.

"From the moment I saw you."

Emily's hands moved to JJ's waist and her head pressed forward and for the first time, they kissed.

They lost themselves in the feeling, and they didn't open their eyes until after they had pulled away to breathe.

Emily's eyes locked on something behind JJ, and by the time she had turned around to follow the gaze, Emily had already walked towards it. She watched as Emily lifted a finger, grazing at the petals of the flowers on the desk, as to confirm that they were real.

Emily gave her a weak smile and took her hand.

"Can I walk you to your car?"

"Of course."

And when they arrived, Emily pressed her lips against JJ's forehead, keeping her, for a moment, in her embrace. JJ squeezed Emily's hand reassuringly, and together, they allowed their silence to speak in volumes.

* * *

Emily sat in the rent-a-car, the frost pooling in front of her lips. Her eyes remained trained at the door of the bar as she sat and waited. Waited for him to arrive. Waited for him to show his face. She was here now, and she dared him to make a move. She dared him to try.

She looked down and saw her phone blink furiously, the little icon for voice mail flashing across the screen.

Before she could stop herself, she pulled the phone to her hear.

"Hey, it's me." JJ. No, not JJ. Not now. "I've been trying all your numbers, and this is an old listing, and you probably don't even use this one anymore, but... I had to try, right? If it is you, and you're out there... Don't do this, Emily. Please. Come home."

The voice on the other end of the line went silent, and Emily felt the tears that she had held at bay for so long begin to glaze over her eyes.

"I know what you're trying to do, and... I could yell at you, right now! For all the things you've said, for what's happened, for the stupid things you're about to go do... But then I think about how scared you must be in some dark place all alone. Listen to me, Emily. You are not alone. I am here with you, and I am coming for you, do you hear me? You stay alive, okay?"

She could hear the voice began to crack. She could hear the tears, and she felt as though she could touch them through the distance.

"From the moment I saw you, Emily. I meant it. I love you."

The message went silent, and Emily shook with silent tears. She wished she remembered what it was like to cry, but she knew that she had held them back for so long that she had forgotten how and that no matter how hard she tried now, the tears would never fall. So, instead, she shook, desperately trying to push the pressure out of her chest.

"I'm sorry, JJ," she whispered, because she could hear the group of men on the other side of the street begin to file into the cars.

She grabbed the pieces of the gun out of its case and pulled at the bolt. Rack, tap, bang. She fired bursts into the van, and tossed a flash bang into the smashed window. She aimed the barrel of the weapon at one of the men who had managed to crawl out.

"Where's Doyle? I only want Doyle."

"Right here, love." He spoke from behind her, and she quickly felt the bullets punch her in the stomach. "Right here."

Her ribs shattered, she blacked out with the pain, cringing as Doyle ran his fingers against the bullet proof vest.

She awoke, what felt like minutes later, tied to a chair in an empty room lined with rusty pipes that snaked up to the high ceilings. She did a cursory overview of the room, but found herself interrupted by cold hands pulling her hair back behind her neck.

"Where's my ring?" he said.

"I flushed it."

"I spent seven years in hell because of that ring. So now, I'm going to give you another gift." He unbuttoned the top two buttons of her shirt, and she cringed once more. "A four leaf clover should be a nice addition to your tattoos. You still have two, right?"

"Yup," she said, trying to maintain her cool. "And that's enough ink. Thanks."

He laughed; "Ink? No, Koreans can't afford ink. They brand themselves."

The machine buzzed with hot electricity, and he pressed the instrument down onto Emily's chest, burning the skin. She pressed her lips together, attempting to hold the pain in.

She watched in terror as Doyle's partner placed a laptop before them, transmitting a video feed from a sniper scope somewhere out in cold Boston. She felt the terror over take the pain that was no throbbing in her chest, through the fresh scar that was rubbing against her shirt.

"No! This is about you and me, you said! You and me!"

She could see three agents on the screen. She could see Rossi and Seaver standing interrogating one of Doyle's contacts. And JJ. The scope found JJ's back, hovering over the spot where her right lung would be. Emily felt her ears begin to ring. The scope hovered back towards Seaver, and then Rossi.

"Then why is your team here? Because I didn't leave a trail."

"Ian, whatever you want to do to me, I accept. But leave them out of it."

"Yes, but I didn't bring them into it."

She watched as the scope shifted back towards JJ. Involuntarily, she thrust forward, as though she could stop the sniper by knocking the laptop to the floor. She felt the whisper leave her lips before she could stop it; "No."

"What's this? An extra agent? Who is she, Emily?"

"No one."

"I don't think so. Is she a lover? I didn't know that you... liked that sort of thing. Does she know about you, Emily? Or is she another one of your whores who you use and toss away?"

"Shut up."

"What do you think?" he said, turning towards his partner.

"Woman first. And then that goateed fellow. And then the whore. In the back as she runs away."

"No!" Emily let the deadness creep back into her eyes. "Shoot Fahey. If he's dead, my team doesn't have anything."

She watched as the bullets smashed once, and then twice, into the small man. It was Doyle's way now.

* * *

**One hour after she left**

Somehow, Emily knew that this would be the moment that her life would revolve around from that point forward. She knew, as soon as she saw the door click closed, that everything, absolutely everything, would be measured relative to this moment in time. It was her version of B.C. and A.D., only this was point zero. Ground zero. She could see it all now. How it would happen. First, Doyle would appear, apparently out of nowhere. God knew he had the skills to get himself out of whatever fix the authorities had put him in.

And then, she would try, as hard as she could, to stop it all before it could escalate. To take out Doyle in a way they should have done years ago. Only, she wouldn't be able to. Even with the help of her former teammates. But she would try anyway. Because maybe, just maybe, they would be able to stop Doyle.

She would try, then, to do what she could to keep her current teammates away, to keep them safe. She had already done that with one, and she would most definitely be the most difficult. But she had already succeeded on that front, hadn't she?

It wouldn't be long until Doyle would have her up against a wall like a corner dog, and cornered dogs do one of three things. Fight, flight, freeze. Well, she wasn't going to freeze, and she certainly wasn't going to run away. So, fight it would be. She'd go after him, bared teeth and all, exactly as a dog on a chain would. And maybe she'd get a bite in. A scratch.

Last, Doyle would have her.

She didn't know what exactly Doyle would do, but she knew that, in the end, she would be dead.

That much was easy to understand.

She watched as it played over and over in her head. She tried to find a way out. A caveat. A point where she could rip the whole story away from its timeline and into her hands and control. But no matter how many times it played over in her head, she couldn't find a single thing. She lifted the bottle and let the alcohol burn at her throat, beginning to lift her, ever so slightly.

So, this is how it would end.

After everything.

She pressed the nib of a pen down onto a piece of paper and watched as she began to write. The message was short and succinct, but when it was done, she took time to carefully fold it twice over, pressing her fingers against the creases. She grabbed the necklace that she had bought once, as a impulse buy, when she, JJ, and Garcia had decided to take the afternoon to go shopping.

She had caught JJ looking down at the necklace, so she slipped in while they turned their heads and quickly bought the item.

She hadn't known when she was going to pass on the gift to JJ, but it didn't matter, now. There wouldn't be a chance to do so.

Emily wrapped the necklace around the piece of paper and then neatly placed it in the third drawer of her dresser. If all had gone as planned, JJ would never come back to this place. But if she did, if at all, for one reason or the other, she came back after everything had finished, this, at least, she would find. She had wished that she would be able to see JJ's reaction at receiving the gift.

But it was too late for what if's, wasn't it?

She closed her eyes, continuing to drink the hard liquor straight from the bottle.

Everything was already in place.

All of it was set to happen. At least JJ would be safe.

Either a bullet has your name on it, or it doesn't. This time, she preferred it to be her own.

* * *

"I was the one holding the gun. she said, staring him straight in the eye.

This would end now.

Doyle threw out a guttural yell and smashed her into steel shelves. She flung against it before falling to the floor, the pain shivering through her bones. She began to lift herself up from the floor to continue to look up at him. She knew precisely what she needed to say to finish this, to make sure this would be done. It would end with her.

"Do you want to know what his last words to me were?"

He kicked her, his boots repeatedly finding the soft spot on her stomach, the steel toe cracking her already snapped ribs. He grabbed her again and threw her against the wall, the anger feral in his eyes. He picked her up again and smashed her again into the wooden table beside them

Just outside the building, the SWAT team grabbed their guns, double checking their magazines. Morgan grabbed a rifle and felt the weight in his arms. He looked up to find JJ slipping on a bulletproof vest, pulling her firearm out from its holster.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm going in, too."

"No, you're not."

"You're not going to stop me, Morgan. If she's in there, I have to go in, too.

He knew there was no way he could stop her; "Fine. But stay behind me."

Bullets shot out, the explosions silent in their guns. The men fell, as though they decided to, in that instant, fall asleep. They breached the building, clearing every room with the same precision they had done every room. Get out of the doorway. Watch the corners. Shoot at anything that moves.

JJ knew.

She was the first in the room. She ran, the world going silent around her. All she could hear were the soft gasps leaving Emily's throat. JJ fell to her side, afraid that if she were to get to close, Emily would break into two. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the wooden post sticking out of Emily's abdomen.

"Basement on the soutside!" she heard Morgan yell. "I need a medic!"

JJ grabbed her hand.

"Emily?" She could feel a tear beginning to roll down her cheek. "I'm right here, Emily. You're gonna be alright. I'm right here, okay?"

"JJ?"

Her voice was small. Weak.

"Yeah," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I'm right here. Stay with me, okay? I'm right here."

"Let me go," Emily said. "Let me... Let me go..."

"No!" She couldn't believe her ears. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "I'm not doing that. I'm not letting you go. Emily, please... Please!" She watched as Emily's eyes began to close. "Listen, I know why you did all of this! I know why you said all of those things! But you don't have to do this! Please! Emily, don't leave me... Please... If you can hear me, squeeze my hand. Yeah, just like that. From the moment I saw you, remember? From the moment I saw you..."

Her eyes shut. Only they didn't open like before.

* * *

"He knew that all of them were shadows: the chanters, the dead, the living. All shadows, moving across this landscape of mountains and valleys, changing the pattern of things as they moved but leaving nothing changed when they left. Only the shadows themselves could change." - Karl Marlantes


End file.
